


Capture

by DazedLizard



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, F/M, Prisoner of War, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, prisoner rey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DazedLizard/pseuds/DazedLizard
Summary: When Rey is captured by the First Order she must learn to navigate in a terrifying new political landscape. Caught between Supreme Leader Ren: earnest, tormented by his past, and with a frighteningly mercurial temper; and General Hux: cold, cruel, and occasionally kind; she must keep herself safe, all whilst desperately hoping that her friends are alive, and plotting her escape.*CW: themes of sexual assault (threatened and attempted) and abuses of power. Apparently I'm working through something here...
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	Capture

Rey let out a sob as she saw the shuttle make the jump to hyperspace. She was alone — again. She shook herself roughly and raised her saber, baring her teeth, but it was already too late. She was surrounded. 

**“Drop your weapon! Get on your knees! Hands on your head!”**

_Yeah. Right._

She reached for the last of her strength and spoke, putting force behind her words. “You will release me, and forget that you saw me.”

A ripple of confusion ran through the squadron of storm troopers, and for a nanosecond she thought she might have been successful, until they snapped to attention once more. There were too many of them.

 **“Drop. Your. Weapon.”** The amplified voice came again. 

Rey cast around her frantically. To her left, the resistance base burned. The once-green field had turned to mud, blackened under the feet of the hundreds of troopers. Several bodies lay strewn about — mostly clad in white armour, although the beige-brown resistance garb could be seen here and there. Stretchers were being used to carry some of the casualties into large First-Order transports. The battle was over. 

She gripped her saber hard, her knuckles turning white. “ _You will let me go!_ ” she hissed. 

She staggered as the words left her lips, the scene around her spinning. One trooper separated themselves from the pack, stepping towards her whilst holding up a set of binders, and she drove her saber through their chest with a sob. The stink of burning flesh and plasteel hit her nostrils as the trooper dropped to the ground, but no blood bubbled from the smoking hole in their armour — her saber had already cauterised the wound. 

“Let me go!” she cried, desperately. There was no force behind her words, this time. She had no more strength to give. “No one would blame you for failing to capture me! I am the last Jedi, your leaders will understand!” She sniffed, embarrassed. It was like trying to reason with a datapad — it was reprogramming, not pity, that would sway them. 

Another ripple passed through the squadron, and the crowd parted as a tall officer made his way through. A tall, pale man, with flaming red hair.

Rey gulped. She recognised him from the holovids. 

“Drop your weapon, _last Jedi_ ,” General Hux sneered. His uniform was pristine; clearly he had not engaged in the battle.

Rey clutched her lightsaber harder, pulling it close so that she could feel the heat of the blade. It was almost comforting. 

“I'll surrender if you release any resistance prisoners that you've taken today,” she bartered. 

Hux's face was impassive. “There are no prisoners.” His tone was clipped, and she allowed herself a moment of relief, until he continued. “Resistance scum were shot on sight.”

The cry that left her lips was involuntary, and she reeled backwards, stumbling into the muzzle of a blaster and cold plasteel armour behind her. The trooper shoved her forward, and she staggered, her knees hitting the mud as she fell. Her saber slipped from her hand and the blade hissed and spat against the wet ground, steam billowing up around her. 

General Hux stepped forward, aiming his pistol at her forehead. “You can come in a dignified manner, or I can have the storm troopers drag you. The choice is yours.”

“You're out of your kriffing mind if you think I'll surrender to you now," she snarled. She tried to stand, but firm hands behind her held her down.

The General rolled his eyes. “Very well.” He reversed his grip on his pistol, drew back his arm, and backhanded her with it, hard, across the temple. 

The ground rushed up to meet her and the world went black.

***

Rey awoke to a pounding headache and a mouth like sandpaper. Her whole body ached, and she groaned loudly, cutting off the sound when her head throbbed in protest. She tried to bring a hand up to her temple, where the pain was the worst, but found that she couldn't move her arm. A flutter of panic stirred within her, and she cracked an eye open. 

She was lying on a bunk in a small cabin. The vibrations told her it was a small shuttle, and the streaks of light through the small porthole indicated that it was travelling at light speed. She could feel the cuffs on her wrists now, binding her hands together in front of her, but she resisted looking at her hands, reluctant to see the evidence of her captivity.

She closed her eyes again, shivering slightly in the cool air. She hugged her arms closer to her body, realising with a groggy sense of discomfort that something felt… off. Slowly, she pressed her palms against her thighs, then her torso, and her body stiffened in dread and fear and white hot anger. Someone had removed her outer clothes, leaving her in just her breastband and underpants. 

_Oh Force, no_. 

She had gone fifteen years on Jakku warding off unwanted advances from men, finally leaving that life behind her, only to wake up half-naked in First Order custody? A wave of nausea washed over her and she rolled over suddenly, leaning over the edge of the cot as she heaved bile onto the floor. Her stomach clenched emptily as she retched — when was the last time she ate? Yesterday? The day before? She brought her hands to her face and wiped her mouth, feeling a damp, sore spot at her temple. Her fingers came away bloody and she groaned again. Her assessment of her situation was rapidly plummeting. 

The entrance pad at the doorway beeped and she scrambled to cover herself with the bedsheet as the door hissed open. The red-haired man — General Hux — stepped into the room, the door sliding closed behind him. He reached behind him, pressing his hand against the entrance pad, and it bleeped again. The door was locked.

“Good. You’re awake.”

“What the _fuck_ did you do to me?” Rey snarled. Anger coursed through her and her voice shook.

The General stared at her dispassionately. “I gave you the option to come quietly. You chose not to. Your head wound is superficial and will heal.”

“Not that!” She was practically spitting with rage. “My clothes — where are my clothes you _kriffing bastard?_ ” She pulled the bedsheet tighter around her, as best she could with her hands bound. 

Hux wrinkled his nose. “You were filthy,” he said. “I won’t have you dirtying my ship, much less my bunk.” He scowled as his eyes flicked to the small puddle where she had vomited. “Although, I see you still managed to make a mess.”

Rey gaped, trying to keep her voice from shaking with anger. “You took my clothes because you _didn’t want a mess?_ ” She felt a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh. “And I suppose you ask all your Storm Troopers to strip naked before they get on-board too? Of all the Force-damned pathetic —”

“The Storm Troopers,” he interrupted, speaking over her, “travel in designated troop-carriers, not in my private shuttle.”

Rey opened her mouth to speak but he held up a hand to silence her. 

“As for what you are so crudely implying, you will be relieved to know that I have precisely zero interest in scrawny little desert rats.” His face twisted into a cruel sneer. “God knows what you’re hiding under that grubby bandage wrapped around your chest, but it certainly isn’t a pair of tits.”

Rey felt her face redden as shame welled up within her. “You’re a monster,” she spat, with all the venom she could muster. 

“I’m a monster because I _didn’t_ assault you?” he sneered. “Believe you me, girl, that could be rectified.” His eyes roamed over her and Rey froze. “You should be thanking me, you ungrateful wretch. I could have had you travel with the troopers, and rest assured, they would have done what I have not.” 

He strode forward and gripped her chin firmly with one hand. She jerked away instinctively, but his grip was firm. 

“Is that what you want?”

Rey gritted her teeth. 

“Answer me!” He pressed his forefinger into the wound on her temple, causing her to hiss in pain. 

“Of course not, you — you cretin,” she gritted out. 

He slapped her, open palmed, with his free hand, causing fresh pain to radiate across her face. "You may want to start acting like it.” 

He released her and she shied away from him as far as possible across the small bunk. This was the man responsible for Starkiller base. He had committed genocide — he would not hesitate to commit war crimes against her, too.

The General turned, stooping to open a small cupboard that she'd not noticed before. He tossed a thick grey towel towards her, and she let it fall beside her, not wanting to relax her grip on the sheet. 

“There is a refresher through there.” He pointed to a small door. “Wash. I will be back in ten minutes to clean up your head wound.”

“I want clothes,” she said. 

“You can have clothes when you learn to behave.”

Rey's head began to bleed again under the hot spray from the shower, and she turned the temperature to cold to staunch the flow. Cold water causes the blood vessels to constrict, she remembered. It was difficult, showering with her wrists bound, but she scrubbed the dirt and blood and grime off her as best she could, wary of the time limit Hux had imposed on her. Her underclothes were filthy, but she had nothing else, so she clumsily re-wound her breast-band and slipped her knickers back on. It took several tries to wind the towel around her torso before stepping back into the cabin. 

Hux was already there, pulling a bacta patch out of a medpack in a small metal box. 

“Sit,” he said. 

Rey hesitated. She didn't want to sit on his bed whilst she was half naked. It felt wrong. Like tempting fate. Whilst he claimed he hadn't touched her, he _had_ threatened to do so, and she didn't want to give him any ideas. 

Hux sighed, punching the bridge of his nose. “I said, _sit down_ , girl. Do not test my patience. I've had a very long day and I won't hesitate to resort to other methods to make this easier.”

Rey swallowed and sat down gingerly on the corner of the bed furthest from him. He sighed again and approached her, taking her chin in one hand and turning her head this way and that. He tutted slightly, then brusquely swabbed the side of her face with antiseptic, causing her to wince, before sticking a bacta patch over the area. 

“We'll be arriving in a few hours. I suggest you get some rest.”

“Why am I here?” The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop herself. The General appraised her carefully, and she swallowed, trying not to meet his eyes. “Why did you… keep me? Alive, I mean.” A lump was forming in her throat. At least Finn and Rose had survived. She'd made sure of that when she'd practically thrown them onto the shuttle. She closed her eyes and tried to push past the memory of Finn's face — that hurt, betrayed stare when he'd realised: she wasn't coming with them. She had to do it. It was the only way to make sure they made it out alive. 

“Supreme Leader Ren ordered it,” he said, putting the rest of the medical supplies back in the box. He locked the box and placed it inside the low cupboard. “Ren has plans for you, I believe. You have information that could be of value to the First Order.” 

“You know I won't give you information,” she said dully. Part of her wondered if we should be afraid, speaking to the General so bluntly. The rest of her was too numb to care. Ren had _plans for her_ — what the kriff did that mean?

“We'll see.”

He left the room, his pristine leather boots squeaking against the durasteel floor. 

Rey pulled the sheets off the bunk, curled into a ball on the floor, and cried. 

***

Hux pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat down in the shuttle's small lounge. The girl had not been what he'd expected. She was a strange mixture of fiery and vulnerable. He'd expected something more… _solid_ , he supposed — not this wiry slip of a girl. After all, wasn't she supposed to be Ren's equal in the force? Or whatever it was that Ren claimed. The force: some kind of unreliable nebulous _magic_ . It all sounded like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo, although he had to admit that Ren's force tricks did give him a certain… _gravitas._ His hand went to his throat and he grimaced involuntarily. Anyone unfortunate enough to be forced to spend long periods of time with Ren was accustomed to the disembodied sensation of Ren's gloves around their throat — Hux more than anyone. 

But whatever the force was, it didn't seem to be doing the girl much good now. She was clearly untrained, regardless of what Ren claimed. He certainly didn’t believe Ren’s claim that the scavenger was responsible for Snoke’s death, after apparently incapacitating Ren _and_ cutting down the entire Praetorian Guard — not for one second. Not that he particularly cared. Ren was savage, infuriating, and dangerously unpredictable — but Snoke had been downright terrifying. Ren was more… down-to-earth, so to speak. He didn't go in for the giant holograms and subordinates kneeling at his feet as much as his former master had done. Ren _had_ dedicated an irritating amount of time and resources to finding the scavenger, but, now that she was safely in custody, Ren would surely refocus on the First Order and their ultimate goal to finally bring order and peace.

He thought back to the file he'd read on the girl prior to the mission. She was from some junkyard on Jakku, of all places. A desert scavenger, little more than a slave, for all the freedom it afforded her. It must have been a struggle for her to stay safe all those years — a young woman on her own. He thought back to his threats to rape her or throw her to the men with a twinge of regret. He was skilled at subduing prisoners with threats of their worst fears. It was an effective strategy, one he'd learned from his father — although the threats that came from Brendol Hux had invariably come true. Rape being, arguably, one of the most degrading, dehumanising things that could be done to a person (in his mind, anyway, not having actually experienced it himself) made sexual violence the ideal threat to ensure her compliance. He had seen the horror in her face when he'd said it. But she was no ordinary prisoner — Ren had shown a single-minded obsession with her, ever since taking over as Supreme Leader. The girl, presumably, would be staying with the First Order as a permanent _guest_ , and, as such, having her permanently terrified of him was less than ideal. He groaned, distracting himself momentarily by pouring himself two fingers of whiskey. He hated apologising.

When he entered the cabin a few hours later, a spare set of officer's fatigues draped over one arm, he found the girl sleeping in a makeshift nest on the floor. He felt another twinge of guilt at the thought that she might not have felt safe in the bunk. He cleared his throat and she sprang up like a startled loth-cat, her teeth bared. 

He forced himself to remain still. His instinct was to grab her by the scruff of the neck and smack some sense into her, but this girl would take some training, he realised. He wanted obedience, not abject fear or rage. She would require a gentler approach. 

“I'm not here to hurt you.”

She practically snarled at him, her hands fisted in the blankets. 

Hux sighed, tossing the clothes towards her. She didn't try to catch them. 

“You can wear these. They might be a little big on you. I'll have you measured for your own clothes once we reach the Finalizer.”

Something in her eyes softened for a moment, before her scowl was back. 

“What do you want in return?” she asked.

“Just your cooperation,” he replied, keeping his voice mild. 

She looked mildly incredulous. “Why the fuck would I cooperate with you?”

Hux resisted a smile. She really was a wild little thing. He would enjoy breaking her — if he got the opportunity. 

“You are a prisoner of war, yes,” he said, “but it doesn't need to be unpleasant for you. 'Prisoner' simply means that you are not allowed to leave. That's all. Many prisoners with the First Order lead relatively comfortable lives. Cooperate, and I won't have to beat you, strip you, or starve you. I won't have to send you to reconditioning or to a torture cell. It will be so much easier. For both of us.”

He noted with some satisfaction that her face had turned several shades paler. 

“Put the clothes on, Rey.”

She gave him a look so sour it could curdle milk, then reached with both hands for the clothes. She looked pretty with his handcuffs on. 

“Fine,” she spat. “Turn around.”

“Excuse me?”

“Turn around,” she repeated. “I —” she reddened — “I need to take my undergarments off — they're still covered in mud and blood and kriff knows what else — and I don't want you _watching_ me.”

He rolled his eyes. Her request was ridiculous, of course. She was his captive and he'd do what he damn-well wanted with her, and if that meant seeing her naked then she should be thanking him he wasn't demanding more. But he supposed this might be a good opportunity to earn some trust from her. 

He turned his back. 

“Wait —”

He turned back, one eyebrow raised. 

The girl stared at her lap. 

“Yes?”

“I need you to take the cuffs off,” she said quietly. 

“Oh, do you?” His lip quirked in amusement. 

“I can't put a shirt on with my hands bound,” she said, and Hux knew that she was right. 

“Please,” she murmured. 

Well, that was a start. “What will you give me in return?” he asked.

“I'll —” Hux could see her jaw clenching as she gritted her teeth. “I'll _cooperate_ ,” she said, finally. She spat the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Good girl.” 

He smiled at her as he pulled the key-card from his pocket. He swiped it on the cuffs and they fell free, and she scrambled back from him, pulling the blanket towards her with one hand to cover herself, whilst reaching for the clothes with the other hand. 

“You have fifteen seconds,” he said, as he turned away from her. 

He heard her skittering about behind him, no doubt wanting to dress as quickly as possible before her allotted time ran out, before she suddenly went quiet as she stilled. 

“Are you finished?”

There was a slight rustle from behind him.

“Rey?”

He turned around in time to see her arm swinging towards him, and something hard and heavy slammed into the side of his face, sending him sprawling.

***

Rey grunted with the effort as she swung the metal box of the med-kit as hard as she could into the General’s head. It was locked and she’d been unable to find anything she could use to pick the lock — a shame; she was hoping she might be able to poison him with some painkillers or similar — but nonetheless it made an effective weapon. Hux crumpled and hit the floor with a thud, and she ran for the door, which, mercifully, hissed open. She breathed a sigh of relief — she didn’t want to bludgeon him to death and use his biometrics to open the door, but she would if she had to. She sprinted down the passageway of the ship. There must be an escape pod. There had to be. 

She skidded around a corner and found herself in a small, lounge area. Down another corridor to the right she could see the cockpit, so she moved towards the passageway on the left. She hesitated. If there were escape pods, they would probably be on the ship’s lower levels — the lounge was plush enough to suggest that this level of the ship contained the ‘luxuries’, but not the ‘necessities’. There must be a hatch with a ladder somewhere. 

There was a sudden noise from behind her, and she spun around. A young-looking blonde man in an officer’s uniform had entered the room, and was staring at her in surprise. Rey took off down the left passageway. 

She could hear swearing coming from the lounge, then a siren started to wail. She rounded another corner and glimpsed the cockpit again, this time from the other side. Her heart hammered a tattoo against her ribs. A black-clad death trooper stepped out of the cockpit and started toward her, and, without even thinking, she threw out her arm, hurling them backwards with the force. The trooper landed heavily and groaned, rolled over, then went still. Her eyes went wide but she didn’t have time to consider the feat she’d pulled off. She sprang forward, seizing the opportunity to arm herself. 

She hesitated again as she came level with the trooper, then crouched to pry the blaster from their gloved hands. She tugged gently at first, her movements becoming more and more frantic when the blaster refused to move. It was clipped to the trooper’s armour, she realised. She reached closer, fumbling for the clips, her fingers shaking, and heard tread of boots behind her. The blonde officer stood, a smug look on his face.

“Got you,” he crowed. “Where’s the General?” 

Rey ignored him. The blaster was still attached to the fallen trooper; she couldn’t get it loose, and she turned it toward the officer as best she could and fired. The bolt hit the wall and the man jumped backwards, cursing loudly. He didn’t shoot back, and she felt a grim satisfaction. His orders were to bring her back alive — he couldn’t just shoot her and be done with it. 

“How dare you!” he hissed at her. “Drop the blaster. You don’t want to make this even worse for yourself.”

“Stay back!” 

She squeezed the trigger again, sending another bolt sailing into the wall of the shuttle. It missed the man by a mile — with the blaster still attached to the fallen trooper, she couldn’t get the angle right. But it might stop him coming any closer. 

“Stupid girl,” he said. His eyes were alive with cruel amusement. “Put the gun _down_.”

Rey shook her head. She was rooted to the spot, frozen with fear. Her hand shook violently against the trigger of the blaster, and she wondered if she might set it off accidentally. “No.” Her voice shook, too.

The officer smiled — a cold, hard leer — and something inside her twisted. “Good,” he said. He shifted his gaze from her face onto something behind her, and gave a small nod. Before she could turn, heavy hands fell on her shoulders. Rey shrieked and ducked but another set of hands gripped her, holding her upper arms in a vice-like grip. 

The hands pushed forwards as she thrashed, lowering her until she was face-down on the durasteel floor. A hand on the back of her neck held her down, and her arms were wrenched backwards. She felt cold steel against her wrists and heard the click of the cuffs locking closed. 

The hands yanked her back up into a kneeling position. The hard floor bit into her knees. The blonde man stood before her, appraising her with a cold expression. 

“Take DT-R11 to the medbay,” he snapped. 

“Yes, Captain Varrin.” The trooper to her right stepped towards his fallen comrade, who groaned as he was heaved up off the floor. Another trooper filled the space on Rey's right.

Captain Varrin’s gaze snapped back to hers. “I think you need to see what happens to prisoners who disobey the First Order.” A pale pink flush appeared on his cheeks. “Strip.”

_What?_

Rey opened her mouth in disbelief, before realising, with a stab of horror, that the order was not meant for her to obey. The troopers gripped her borrowed shirt, tearing the material from her torso, and she screamed and hunkered forward in an attempt to shield herself. Her heart thudded like a jackhammer inside her chest and she panted in fear. Someone gripped her bound hands, pulling them up behind her, and she was forced upwards and forwards. Her trousers were yanked down and heavy boots kicked at her ankles, forcing her to step out of them. Then the hands released her and she fell heavily, her shoulders shaking with barely restrained sobs, curling in on herself as if that could protect her from the monsters who surrounded her. 

“Get up.”

Rey buried her face into the floor and cried harder. She couldn't help it. She had experienced cruelty in her lifetime, but somehow none of it matched the humiliation with which she now burned. 

She saw Varrin’s knees bend, and his torso appeared in her field of vision as he crouched before her. He reached towards her and she flinched violently away from him. He gripped hold of her hair and forced her to look up at him. 

“Don’t worry, little girl,” he said, twisting his hand slightly, causing her to wince as several of her hairs parted from her head. “I won’t kill you. Not this time, anyway. A prize like you should be enjoyed.”

He stood up. 

“Take her to the crew quarters,” he said, his voice cold. “No permanent damage.”

Rey's blood turned to ice in her veins. “N — no,” she croaked. Rough hands were gripping her arms again, ready to drag her to her feet. Her heart fluttered in her chest and her head span. 

_No._

She rolled over and kicked with both feet, as hard as she could. Her bare feet met plastoid armour and the hands released her.

“ _No!_ ” she shrieked. She scrambled backwards, backing against the wall of the passage, no longer caring how exposed she was as blind panic threatened to overwhelm her. Her arms strained behind her, and she felt the cuffs break through the delicate skin of her wrist. Nausea rose within her and her stomach rolled, and she forced the sensation down. 

“No,” she sobbed. “No, no you can't do this — you can't, I —” she broke off, her chest heaving. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I won't do it again, I won't —” 

Varrin clasped his hands behind him as he stared down at her. “The new ones always take some correction,” he drawled. “But you will learn.” His eyes flickered down her body and she cringed further away from him. 

The death troopers moved toward her again and she scrambled upright, pressing her body into the wall. 

“No, wait — please!” Her mind raced, desperate for a way out, but came up oddly blank. 

They were going to rape her, she thought, dully. Not even Plutt had threatened her with that — he'd wanted to tame her; control her, but not _break_ her — what use is a scavenger who's lost the will to live? 

She should have fought harder to evade capture. Should have run faster. Should have found the escape pod or died trying. Hell, she should have bypassed the escape pod and thrown herself straight out of a kriffing air lock. She could see it, in her mind's eye — she could've been one with the force by now, in blissful oblivion, not here, not this. She would do it as soon as they left her alone again, she resolved. Somehow. She would free herself, _and_ deprive the First Order of their bounty. Of course, it wasn't the kind of freedom she'd hoped for — she'd hoped she would see Finn and Rose again. And Poe — he and some of his pilots might have escaped the ambush, she hoped, if they'd managed to get airborne in time. But it would be a freedom of sorts. Free from a life as a prisoner, a life of being forced to fulfill the whims of others. Free from whatever Ren had planned for her. It wouldn't matter, she reasoned. Nothing she did mattered — even when other people thought it did. Four fourteen years she'd fought to keep men from taking what they wanted from her, only to escape that life and have it taken from her anyway. She'd found Skywalker, and he'd rejected her. She'd found people she could call family who she would never see again. Nothing mattered. Her life was — nothing. She was nothing. 

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. If she was nothing, then it didn't matter what they did to her. She could go somewhere else in her mind. This was nothing. This didn't matter. She was nothing. 

_But not to me._

He'd said that to her once, months ago. Back when she'd thought, for a brief, devastating moment, that he was Ben. She'd known, of course, that he was angry. She could feel the rage that simmered from his end of the bond, in those rare moments where her focus slipped and her mental barriers wavered. Would he still be angry when he saw her, she wondered. She wondered if Hux would let her have clothes before then, or whether she would be paraded into the hangar, naked and bruised, the evidence of their torment painted on her skin. She didn't think he'd like that — at least, she hoped he wouldn't. Kylo was too possessive a man to want the rank and file of the First Order seeing her like that. 

And then something shattered within her, and she shuddered back into her body, suddenly aware of black-clad hands on her skin, pulling her to her feet, and Varrin standing watching her, anticipation written on his face. 

How could Ben — Kylo — whoever we was now — how could he allow this? Maybe he wanted this — to pushish her. Degrade her. Maybe he thought she'd be more compliant with him if he allowed others to abuse her before he got his blood-stained hands on her.

And then rage overcame her fear — a grim acceptance of what was happening; of what they were about to do to her. She'd known the First Order were monsters, she'd just avoided seeing the depths to which they'd sink, before now. The First Order marketed themselves as the _civilised_ option for the galaxy, but they were no better than the thieves and slavers whom they claimed to despise. Against all of her better judgement, she felt herself reaching out to him, going to that place inside her mind where she'd closed off their connection, her anger making her foolish — her desperate need to strike out at someone, _anyone_ ; even the man who would soon hold her fate in his hands. 

She pulled bricks out of the wall she'd built around their connection, feeling, for the first time in weeks, the warmth from their bond enveloping her — still dampened, but warm and solid and there.

_\-- Rey?_

Kylo's voice whispered in her mind. She hastened to raise her barriers again. She wanted him to hear her, not see her, and she poured her hatred and disgust and fear towards him. 

_\-- Rey, what —_

_\-- I will never forgive you for this, Kylo,_ she hissed, savagely. 

He started to speak but she interrupted him again, speaking over him. 

_\-- Know that I will never, ever cooperate with you after this. You'll have to kill me. I would rather die than have anything to do with you or your order._

She felt his shock and confusion. Good. She had caught him off-guard.

_\-- Tell me, he demanded. -- What's happen—_

_\-- Nothing out of the ordinary, it seems. Nothing that your soldiers don't routinely inflict on women._

She slammed the bond closed before he could respond, humiliation curling inside her, that she had shared so much. What was she thinking? He surely knew what his men would do. If anything, she had probably given him something to laugh about. Some grim satisfaction that she was being adequately _broken_.

The death troopers had their hands on her again, dragging her to her feet. One of them grasped a handful of her hair and she winced as hairs became caught between the armoured plates of his gloves. 

Varrin strode forward and gripped her chin. The sensation of hands on her — her arms, her shoulder, her hair, her face — was overwhelming. She wanted to scream, to fight, to vomit. Instead, she bit her tongue, hard, causing her mouth to water, and spat the mouthful of bloody spittle in his face. 

He recoiled from her with a cry of disgust, fingers fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief and hastily wiping his cheek. 

“You little savage!” he hissed. “Someone needs to teach you to behave in a civilised manner.”

“And raping your war prisoners is civilised?”

“You don't get to make judgements here, rebel scum.” He sneered at her. “You'll take what you're given, and if you plan to make it out alive, I'd advise you to—” He broke off suddenly, his whole body jolting. 

Rey watched with horror and fascination as his face drained of colour, and a darker patch of black began to creep across the front of his uniform. His hand fell limply from her jaw, and he collapsed at her feet, blood pooling around his lifeless body.

Hux stood behind him, framed in the passageway, his face contorted with rage. Blood ran down the side of his face and head, soaking into the white shirt beneath his partially unbuttoned jacket. He held a wad of gauze to his head with one hand, a smoking pistol with the other. The troopers either side of her released her arms and snapped to attention. Hux cocked the pistol again and shot twice. The troopers thudded, wordlessly, to the ground. Two round, perfect bullet holes stood proudly in the centre of their helmets. 

Rey stared at him. Would he shoot her, too? She raised her chin, ready to accept whatever happened now — relieved, even. Anything would be preferable to what the troopers would have done to her. 

“Stay there.” 

Hux turned on his heel and disappeared back into the common area. He returned seconds later, holding a long, black coat. The pistol was tucked into the waistband of his trousers. He approached her, stopping several paces away. 

“I am not going to touch you,” he said. His face had smoothed itself back into an expressionless mask, and he kept his eyes on hers.

He walked behind her, placing the greatcoat around her shoulders. Then he circled back to face her. “I am going to do up one of the buttons. I won't touch you.”

Rey flinched as his hands came close, but he stayed true to his word. He buttoned several of the clasps, covering her. 

“Did they hurt you?” His voice was even, but his face betrayed the tension behind his words.

She shook her head. “Not —” The words got stuck in her throat, and she faltered. She tried again. “Not like that.” Her voice was hoarse.

Hux scrutinised her face for a moment, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Follow me.” 

He set off down the passageway without checking to see if she was behind him. Rey hurried to keep up. She had learned something: General Hux was not the most depraved member of the First Order. She didn't want to meet any more of his soldiers. 

He led her back to his cabin, locking the door behind him. 

“Sit.”

Rey sat on the bunk as he retrieved the medkit from where it lay on the floor. One edge of the metal box had blood smeared across it, which Hux ignored. Rey's stomach clenched and she felt a twinge of guilt. She pushed it away. He might not be the most depraved man in the First Order, perhaps not right at this minute, anyway — force knows what other torture and abuse he'd inflicted on other, less ‘important’ prisoners — but he was still the genocidal maniac who commanded the First Order. He'd still captured her and threatened her; he was still delivering her to an unknown fate with Kylo Ren. He didn't deserve her guilt. 

He disappeared into the fresher and returned several minutes later, his face cleared of blood and a bacta patch in place on his temple. Now they matched. He'd removed his jacket and unbuttoned the once-white shirt beneath it, revealing a lean, sinewy torso. She averted her eyes and he made a scoffing noise.

“I think we're past that, don't you?” 

Rey felt her cheeks warm. The general stripped off his shirt and retrieved an identical one from a drawer, pulling it over his head without unbuttoning it first. 

“Do you need medical attention?”

She shook her head. 

“You will be sent to the medbay for a check-up, regardless, when we reach The Finalizer.” He turned to face her. “Would you like to use the refresher?”

She shook her head again.

“Would you like to put on some other clothes?”

She froze, regarding him warily. 

He seemed to understand her hesitation. “For obvious reasons, I won't be turning my back on you again.”

There was that stab of guilt again. She pushed it away, annoyed with herself for feeling anything for the monster before her. 

“You may dress in the refresher,” he continued. “However, I will need to take the coat off you to remove those handcuffs.”

She stiffened, goosebumps creeping up her spine like frost. The coat felt safe. She wanted to disappear inside it. She didn't want to take it off, and she didn't want him seeing her naked again.

“Rey.”

She shrank backwards. “Don't. Don't say my name.”

He regarded her quietly. “You have had a traumatic experience. You can stay as you are if you truly prefer, but I think you will feel better wearing real clothing.”

“What do you know about how I feel?” It came out as a whisper, and tears rose, unbidden, to her eyes. 

The general gave a tiny sigh. “I know that you are frightened and shocked and humiliated. I know you are devastated by the deaths of your friends and comrades today, and that you hate me for the part I played. You are afraid for what will happen when you are in Ren's custody. You feel guilty for attacking me, and you hate that.”

Tears rolled freely down her face now. She wished he would stop talking. The accuracy of his words was painful. Exposing.

“You are in shock,” he continued, “and you are struggling to make decisions when given options. So, instead, I am going to give you orders. You are under my care now; as your General, your safety is my responsibility.”

He pulled a set of folded clothes out of a cupboard and strode to the fresher door, dropping the clothes just inside.

“You are going to stand up and face the fresher door. I will remove the coat you are wearing and release your hands. I won't touch you. I won't even look at you. Then you are going to close the door, wash yourself, and dress. I will give you fifteen minutes.”

He looked at her expectantly. She didn't speak, but rose, unsteadily, to her feet. 

“You're not my General,” she mumbled. 

“I am now.”

***

Rey was part-relieved, part-annoyed to find that Hux was right. She did feel better — _slightly_ better — once she was dressed. The clothes were a soft jersey material that swamped her, the shirt hanging almost to her knees, and she welcomed the coverage, wishing she could shrink down further and be completely hidden. She caught a glimpse of herself in the refresher mirror and did a double-take. A bruise covered the right side of her face, radiating in a kaleidoscope of colours from the wound where Hux had struck her. There were red, finger-shaped marks on her neck and the exposed parts of her shoulders from the troopers, which she knew continued down her covered arms to the cuts on her wrists where she’d strained against the troopers’ handcuffs. She looked beaten. Defeated. She wondered if she felt defeated, too — she couldn’t tell. She just felt numb. She wondered if Hux would give her another bacta patch for her face; the last one had peeled off in the shower. There wasn’t a chrono in the refresher so she waited as long as she thought she could get away with before reluctantly returning to the cabin.

Hux rose from the small armchair as she entered. He was holding a large set of binders; the kind that were wide and slightly padded on the inside. He stopped a few feet from her. 

“Give me your wrists.”

She hesitated, then obeyed, and he snapped the binders closed over her wrists. He stepped away from her, then returned with the medpack and redressed her wound in silence.

“Get on the bed.”

Rey stiffened for a moment, but he gave her a pointed look and she reluctantly sat on the edge of the bunk.

“No. Against the headboard. Lie back with your hands above your head.”

Dread crept up her spine, and her stomach clenched, uncomfortably. She stared at her knees, then forced herself to look up at him. “Why?” She wished that there wasn’t a tremble to her voice.

“Just do it, Rey.” 

Her stomach rolled again. She twisted her fingers together until they hurt, and forced herself, again, to meet his gaze. “No.”

The corner of his eye twitched. “Rey.” There was a warning note in his voice.

“ _No_.” She said it more forcefully this time, and, to her horror, she felt tears stinging in her eyes again, blurring her vision. She sucked in a breath of air. “Deliver me to Kylo — I won’t resist you anymore. But don’t —” She choked on her words. “Don’t —”

The General’s eyes widened slightly, and he took a sharp step backwards. Then he sat down in the armchair and opened his mouth to speak, seeming to choose his words carefully.

“That was… thoughtless of me,” he said, slowly. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The shadows highlighted the dark circles under his eyes, making him look frightful, but when he spoke, his voice was soft. “I cannot guarantee your absolute safety whilst you are in First Order custody, Rey. That will depend on your behaviour, and whether or not you cooperate once we reach The Finalizer.” He paused. “But I can guarantee that no harm of _that kind_ will come to you again. Not from me; not from any man under my command.”

She stared at him. Was — was General Hux apologising? _The_ General Hux?

“Captain Varrin was a liability,” he continued, “and I regret that your encounter with him went the way it did.” He met her gaze again with another pointed look. “I did not intend for you to encounter him at all.”

Rey frowned, the cogs of her mind turning slowly — too slowly. The Captain was a liability? What did that mean? Did Hux know he would do that? Had he done it before?

“But —” she started, faltering. “Then... why —” She frowned again, remembering what he’d said earlier. “You threatened to rape me,” she accused. “You threatened to have the Stormtroopers rape me.”

Hux scowled, his expressionless mask slipping for a moment. “Sexual violence is one of the few torture practices that is not sanctioned by the First Order.” His jaw was clenched, and his words were stiff and uncomfortable. “What almost happened to you with Captain Varrin is... not unheard of, unfortunately. There will always be those who abuse their power in the worst of ways. But it is not regulation. My intention was to frighten you into compliance.”

She sat still whilst she digested this information. He had lied to her. It was calculated and cruel. She was at his mercy, with no clear way to defend herself, and he’d capitalised on that by threatening her with the thing she feared most. But his plan had backfired: instead of scaring her into obedience, he’d only stoked her determination to escape.

“Are all your threats empty?”

“Would you like to find out?”

She didn’t answer. 

He had also saved her. She wrinkled her nose and pushed that thought away. General— _by-the-book_ —Hux had probably only ‘saved’ her because he couldn’t stomach the breach of regulations and the paperwork that would have followed. 

The General got to his feet, bringing her focus back into the room. She shrank backwards a little as he approached her, and he narrowed his eyes.

“Did I not just tell you that I won’t hurt you?” he snapped. 

“You said that you wouldn’t _rape me_. You never ruled out other kinds of hurt.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He looked tired. She felt a gleam of savage satisfaction.

“We will reach The Finalizer in a matter of hours. I wish to rest, and I will not be leaving you to roam freely around my quarters whilst I do so.”

He paused, as if waiting for her to respond, but she said nothing. She wasn’t about to make this easier for him.

He continued. “I had assumed you would be comfortable on the bunk.” He reached to his jacket where it lay, draped over the back of a chair, and pulled a thinner set of binders from the pocket — the ones she’d woken up wearing. “However, if you prefer, I will —” he seemed to grope for the right words “ — _affix you_ — somewhere else.”

_Oh._

“You don’t need to bind me,” she mumbled, looking down. “I won’t do anything.”

Hux snorted. “And give you another opportunity to cave my head in? I don’t think so.” He held up the cuffs. “So, where’s it going to be?”

Again, she didn’t respond. She didn’t want to be complicit in anything he did to her. 

“Fine,” he said, striding to her. He cuffed one of her wrists with the second set of binders, then tugged her hands down to the foot of the bunk, where he locked the cuffs onto an exposed part of the bed frame. “There,” he grunted. “You can sit on the floor or lie on the bunk. Rest. _Quietly_.”

He collapsed back into the armchair and closed his eyes.

“You probably shouldn’t sleep,” she blurted out, “You might have a concussion.” She didn’t know why she said it. It wasn’t like she cared if he died. 

He cracked his eyes open with a half smirk. “I’ll take my chances, Scavenger.”

***

  
  



End file.
